Reunited, and it felt So. Good.

I’m not super into giving head.  I have chronic jaw pain; keeping my mouth open for a long time, let alone taking something into my mouth for a long time, can be a pretty painful experience.  I do relish deep throating and giving sultry glances upward before sliding my tongue alongside the length of a hard cock, just… not for a long time.  Almost never enough for the person I’m blowing to come.  And I know, I know: orgasms aren’t the objective of sex (for me, anyway), oral sex feels amazing without coming, I shouldn’t have to grimace through my own pain to give someone else pleasure, etc.  I know.  It’s just – sometimes I really want my loved ones to blow a load in my mouth, you know?

So when The Engineer suggested that he hold off masturbating for a week leading up to our reunion, I was pumped because I could not wait to have him jizz into the back of my throat.

We hadn’t seen each other in two months; it was nearly impossible to keep our hands off each other at the Dublin airport and on our way to our first AirBnB in the middle of the countryside, but we did.  When we arrived, we kept giving each other frustrated glances as the host chatted to us forever about the house and the history of the area, how we met and why we were traveling, etc.  I had his dick in my mouth moments after she drove away; he was sitting on a swing in the backyard and I was on my knees in the grass, holding onto his hips with my hands while sliding my lips down and over his head and along the length of his shaft.  My pleasure is deeply intertwined with my partner’s, so when I felt him grabbing the back of my head and heard him groan, it spurred me to take him deeper; I felt myself get wet as he told me not to stop, and I moaned in gratification when he came into my mouth in spurts just minutes after I’d started teasing his dick.

I was happy – but not as happy as I was when ten minutes later I was lying on my back on a little green hill with his face buried in my vulva.  I had also participated in the Week(ish) Without a Wank, and I came fast and hard, squeezing his head between my thighs and pressing upward into his lapping tongue.

It was a beautiful day, and being outside naked in the fresh country air was the perfect way to start a holiday that would mark the end of long journeys for both of us.  Later in the week, when we told other people the name of the town we’d visited first, they would reply, “Why would you ever go there?  There’s absolutely nothing to do!” And we would just smile and say, “We just wanted to be in the middle of nowhere, you know?”

Besides, we found plenty to do.

 

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All Over

The first time I ever experienced squirting, I wasn’t the one doing it; I was in a sex club in Seoul, fingering a dreamily beautiful young woman who suddenly gushed all over my hand.  I stopped what I was doing out of pure surprise only to have the people around me prompt me to keep going.  By the time she was done, the whole floor around her and my dress were covered in her ejaculate.  Although I’d read and heard a LOT of accounts of squirting, I didn’t expect it to be that much fluid!  It was incredible – even though it’s totally a normal thing that a load of women do on the regular, I felt like I’d just witnessed a rare and colorful bird flying by.

I chalk this up to all the “How to Make Any Woman Squirt” articles that have popped up across magazines, websites, and YouTube videos in the past few years.  Although squirting has been a documented phenomenon for centuries, the way it’s been covered in mass media in the past five years – as something you “get” women to do if you’re a rock star lover – has made squirting feel like winning an impossible video game rather than just experiencing a cool thing that some women’s bodies do.

Sprinkler, Water, Hose Connection, Rush

Perhaps it’s just me, but it also seems that because of this, the pressure is on to learn how to squirt in order to please your partners – much like there’s pressure on young women to engage in anal sex and deep throating even if they’re not into it.  That being said, I’ve also read a lot of personal accounts of women squirting and their partners not being very sensitive about it (read: having an irrational freak out), which prompted them to feel bad about their bodies for ridiculous lengths of time… so maybe, like much of women’s sexuality, it’s a damned-if-you-do and damned-if-you-don’t thing.

As for me – I thought I’d never squirt because it’s just something that my body had never done.  I’m a super juicy girl; it takes very little arousal for me to become wet (like, soaking through my panties onto my pants wet), but I’d never full-on squirted… and then it happened in Malawi.  The Engineer was going down on me and pressing his fingers deep into my G-spot; when I came, it was all over his face and the sheets.  I laughed when he looked up, his smiling face dripping with my juices.  Luckily he laughed too, and when he came up to smear my own wetness on my face, I wrapped my arms around him and kissed him fully before we showered and went out to the beach to let the sheets dry.  It hasn’t happened since, so maybe it’s a one-time thing for me.  At any rate, my personal feelings on squirting are this: It’s hot when it happens, but no woman should ever feel pressured to do it if she’s not into it or shamed if she does.  As Emily Nagoski says over and over and over in Come As You Are, we’re all normal, and squirting (or not) is a part of that.

 

Photo taken from Pixabay; credit: ariesa66.

 

Winter Wonderland

Alex pushed her front door open, the cold air blowing porch snow in around her ankles.  She banged her Docs against the step to knock the packed snow out of her boots and hurried inside; Jen followed close behind her, wrapping her arms around her lover’s waist.  They were flushed from one too many cocktails, from stumbling home over half-shoveled sidewalks, from the conversation they’d had on the way.

It was Jen who’d seen her first.  Who had watched her, gliding like an angel toward a pool table, the yellow bar lights swimming around her closely-cropped honey hair adding to the effect.  She stared at the woman’s shoulders, pulled back in confidence – her smile, gleaming and glorious – the ease with which she pushed the cue stick through her hooked index finger as she bent over the green felt, a bit of cleavage poking out of a tight white button-down shirt.  After a minute of trying to get Jen’s attention and being unsuccessful, Alex had followed her gaze over to the beautiful stranger, now shaking hands with the loser of the game.  She leaned into Jen’s ear and whispered, “She’s a looker, huh?”  Jen, still in her reverie, just replied with an “Mmm.”  Their stare lingered a minute longer before Alex said, “Babe? She’s fine as hell, but now we’re just being creepy.”  That was enough to get Jen to laugh and break the spell.  Jen turned toward Alex, cupped her face, and kissed her full on the lips, trailing a hand down between Alex’s breasts.  “Let’s go home,” she said.

On the walk home, past lit-up duplexes and technically-illegal-but-still-used parking chairs, Jen dropped the question into the snowy silence around them: “So hey, babe.  Have you ever wondered what it would be like to have a threesome?  I mean… just wondered, you know?” Alex smiled.  “You mean with someone like the woman you were just stalking?” she asked.  “Well – yeah,” replied Jen.  “I mean, she was hot, right?  What would you think about bringing someone else in just for a night?  Just to see what it was like?”  “I think that I’d like to think about it,” replied Alex.  “For now, let’s just focus on getting home!”  The wind swirled and howled around them, flinging flurries this way and that.  They quickened their pace.

Once they were in, coats, hats, mittens, and scarves lying on a pile on the couch, Alex turned on her electric fireplace; they put a few blankets and pillows on the floor and lay down in front of it, snuggling close together to get warm.  After a couple of minutes of staring into the electric blaze, Alex brought up their prior conversation.  “So – if we were to have this hypothetical threesome, what would you want it to look like?”  Jen felt her pulse quicken and her cunt warm.  She turned to look at Alex.  “You mean, what would I want to happen?”  “Yeah,” replied Al.  “What would you want to do with her?  With me?  Would you want to watch, or be watched?  How involved would you want her to be?”

“Hypothetically?” Jen asked.  Alex nodded.  “I’d want you to direct the scene.  I’d want to start out with the two of you taking my clothes off, then you telling her what you want to see.”  “And what do I want to see?” Alex asked with a mischievous grin.  “You want to see her warm me up.  You want to see her lap at my nipples until I’m begging to have the rest of my body touched.  You want to see her caress my inner thighs, teasing me until there’s a stream of fluid running down my pussy because I’m so turned on.  You want to see her graze my outer labia, making my heart pound, and then lick my clit just once so I’m trembling all over – and then you kiss her so you can taste me on her tongue.”   

“Like this?” Alex asked, pulling Jen’s leggings and boy shorts down, spreading her legs just enough, and lapping once over the inside of Jen’s labia and up over her clit before kissing her.  She loved the lemondrop taste of Jen’s cunt.  Jen closed her eyes and breathed shallow breaths, letting her body take over.  She continued talking as Alex continued to taste her: “You lick me slowly and steadily until I come in your mouth, and then you tell her that I’m hers to fuck; she leaves on a tank top, her nipples hard underneath it, and puts on a leather-harnessed strap-on.  She puts a pillow under my ass and works her cock inside of me, rhythmically pumping; while she’s doing that, you hover over me, kissing her.  Long kisses.  I struggle to crane my neck up enough to run my tongue along you, but you… won…” Jen gasped, groaned, bucked her hips up to Alex’s waiting mouth, and finished – “’t let me.”  She collapsed, hoarse moans escaping her.  “I can feel the heat of your cunt on my face; I can’t reach it with my mouth, so I slide one finger inside, then two.  I run them along my lips, making them sticky with your juices, and suck them clean.  You stand up while I’m shuddering from being fucked and walk around to the back of her, sliding one hand up the front of her shirt to gently pinch her nipple and massage her vulva with the other hand until she’s too close to coming to keep fucking me.”

“Then what?” Alex asked, now sliding her fingers in and out of Jen’s cunt, curving her hand so that her heel would rub against Jen’s clit.  “I told you -” said Jen, a dreamy smile on her face – “you’re directing the scene.”  Alex leaned in and kissed her before whispering, “But you’re the one with the imagination.  Babe, you have the sexiest brain of any girl I know.”  “Thanks, love,” she replied, pulling in Alex for another kiss.  “Let’s talk more realistically about this when we’re sober; for now, I just want to feel you all over me.” “Done,” said Al, pressing her whole weight into Jen, hot now under the blazing light of the fire.

 

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

 

Inspired by the following lyrics from “Winter Wonderland” (which I know isn’t technically a carol, but it popped into my head!):

Later on, we’ll conspire as we dream by the fire

To face unafraid the plans that we made,

Walking in a winter wonderland

Push

“I, with a deeper instinct, choose a man who compels my strength, who makes enormous demands on me, who does not doubt my courage or my toughness, who does not believe me naïve or innocent, who has the courage to treat me like a woman.”– Anaïs Nin

“Push harder,” he says, staring down at me, watching the sweat trickle off my brow.  “One more this time.”
“I can’t,” I say, meeting his steadfast gaze.  “My muscles won’t do it.”  “You can,” he replies, never breaking eye contact. 
He lowers the barbell down into my waiting hands and I let the steel, still warm from my last set, rest against my palms momentarily before gradually lowering it and pushing up.  Again.  And again.  And again.  He’s not holding on, but he’s there, his eyes darting between my hands, my pecs, and my eyes. 
“Slow and steady,” he says.  “You got this.”  I push.  Eight.  I struggle and feel the barbell heavy in my small hands, but I do it.  Nine. 
“One more,” he demands, his voice authoritative but reassuring.  With everything I have left, I shove the barbell upward, closing my eyes and straining.  He puts his hands underneath it just as my arms straighten, takes a firm hold of it, and says, “You can let go now.”  My arms, instead of dropping, lower slowly until they’re hanging limply at my sides and my fingers graze the grungy mat underneath the bench.  Eyes still closed, I feel proud but too tired to smile. 
After stretching, we walk home together, taking turns sipping a protein shake.  In his apartment, which has started to feel like home to me, I go into the bathroom to turn on the shower; before I can get there, he grabs my arm.
“No,” he says, pressing me against his blue tile wall.  “I want to taste you the way you are now – sweaty and salty.”  He pulls down my yoga pants and drenched panties and inhales deeply, like you would with a glass of dark red.  Looking down at him, nuzzling his nose into my public hair and smelling me, preparing to lick me clean before we even get into the shower, I finally smile.     

Don’t Call Me Baby (NSFR)

I put on the only clean shirt and real bra I had, along with a blue, elephant-clad skirt (everything is elephant-clad in Southeast Asia) I’d bought as a souvenir in Myanmar.  I’d brought foundation and one pair of earrings with me on the trip for just this occasion: pick-up night.  I had a super nice hotel room; no neighbor to either side of me, a king-sized bed, and a real shower. 
Buzzing with excitement and anticipation, I set out for the one bar in town all the tourists seemed to gravitate to, bellied up to the bar, and ordered a whiskey and Red Bull.  I expected it to be a long night of looking around and talking to a few people, so when the very handsome gentleman (whom I’d not noticed) next to me said, “That seems like a dangerous drink,” I was thrown into momentary confusion.  He had a salt and pepper beard, a beautiful accent, and strong-looking hands. I thanked the universe (I’m sure Bill Nye would find this hilarious and / or annoyingand tried my best not to be an awkward, blubbering American.  
We talked for a bit and took our drinks over to squishy mats overlooking a river, where we continued with travel stories, laughter, and one more drink each.  When he suggested another, I suggested we go back to mine instead.  “You’re a strange fish,” he said, smiling.  “Yes,” I said.  “I know.”  On our way out, he suddenly wrapped his arms around my body from behind me and kissed my neck hungrily; I was a bit taken aback, but far more turned on.  He stopped me just outside the bar to kiss me again while onlookers hooted and hollered at us in the street.
I don’t remember the walk home; I remember him pushing me down on the bed as soon as the door was shut behind us, pulling my skirt and panties down, and immediately burying his face in my cunt.  I smiled a great big smile and gave him gentle direction, which he happily took.  He said I tasted great, and his tongue and fingers felt great.  He did have strong hands – he used them to build things, and I could feel their dexterity.
I pulled him on top of me to kiss him, his mouth tasting salty and sweet, his weight perfectly pressing me into my giant mattress.  I rolled him over and we sat up; I took his shirt off and softly bit his shoulder.  His lovely, olive, smooth, toned shoulder.  This is when he looked at me and said, “I’m not going to fuck you tonight.”  “Okay,” I replied.  “Why?”  “I’ve had a few drinks, and…” I unbuttoned his pants and pulled his (indeed flaccid) dick out from his boxer briefs and said, “… and you like having your cock in someone’s mouth even when it’s soft, right?”  Of course, he replied, and I playfully licked it for a while before taking it into my mouth.  Over the course of a few minutes – wonder of wonders – he became hard, and I continued to go down on him, delighting in feeling his cock grow inside my mouth, his veins now standing out, him now standing up next to the bed. 
I have chronic jaw pain, so blow jobs aren’t my favorite thing; that being said, I’d happily be a pillow princess for hours, so I try to be fair.  I tried to work him with my hands, but he told me to take them away.  Fair – some guys just aren’t into the use of hands as part of blow jobs.  If it weren’t a one-night stand, I would tell him about my jaw pain… but I didn’t.  I was having fun, and the pain wasn’t too bad, so instead, I said, “You might like this,” and laid on the bed on my back.  I hung my head off the side of the bed and leaned it backward so he could slide his cock all the way to the back of my throat; he loved it, and I loved how excited he was.  Until:
“Yeah, baby – you like my cock in your mouth, don’t you?  Oh baby, that feels so good.  I love fucking your mouth, baby.”
That stopped me cold.  I’m not sure if y’all are aware of this, but I am a grown-ass woman.  I am not a child and I’m certainly not an infant.  I get that there are people who use this word as a term of endearment – I do too, with people I’ve been dating for months – but when someone I don’t know calls me baby, it instantly feels skeezy and cat call-y.    
I kneeled on the bed, my cunt still slippery but my mental boner gone, and whispered into his ear that I wanted to feel him inside of me, thinking I could salvage the moment.  He grabbed a condom from the bedside table and rolled it on, but shortly after we started boning, he lost his, too.  He said it was the condom; I said that was a bummer, but no condom means no penetrative sex for me.  I realize that at this point we could have done a million things; we could have continued playing, kissing, touching each other (touching ourselves).  Instead, we opted to sleep and give it another go in the morning.
We did, and it was great.  We woke up at 6:00 am and fucked like champs, not saying anything but making the bed (and each other) squeak and groan.  We lay in bed for a short time after, chatting quietly, before he kissed me goodbye and stole away into the morning.
A few times the night before, he’d teased me for using “sex educator” language (barrier, STI, etc.), which I think may have been as much a turn-off for him as baby was for me.  We were hardly a perfect match, but we still had lots of fun; our communication also wasn’t perfect, and that’s okay.

For me, one-night stands open the doors to sexual partners I’d never date, and that’s why I love them.  They are exciting and fun and always interesting, and this grown-ass woman hasn’t regretted a single one.  Even when they call me baby.  

A Winter Tale (NSFR)

It was one in the morning when Heather – beautiful Heather with the high cheekbones, toned arms, and loosely-flowing honey-colored hair – grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the pub and into the building’s lobby, an entrance to said pub and a music venue next door.  A place that hundreds of people walk through every weekend.  She casually leaned against the wooden paneling on the wall and pulled me in toward her; I was shocked and thrilled and confused (did I mention she was also straight Heather?) and my heart stopped beating momentarily.  She brushed her lips against mine, still holding my hand, which she then slid into her panties.  I moved my fingers down through the slippery folds of her labia, holding my breath, wondering if this was really happening.  I gently pushed my hand further into her panties, sliding my two middle fingers into her while rubbing her clit with the heel of my hand; she moaned softly and closed her eyes, letting her body relax.  For a minute.  Then she swiftly undid the buttons on her pants and gave me a sultry look; it took me zero seconds to get on my knees and slide her turquoise panties to the side so I could run my tongue from her fourchette up to and over her clitoris and then back down again, eagerly tasting her.  I spread her labia with my fingers and pressed my lips to hers, gently sucking her clit before licking her again.  I felt her hips tense up and move ever so slightly as she placed one hand on my head, caressing my hair.  She tasted sweet and sour and wonderful, and I let her juices stick to my lips, completely oblivious to the fact that we were in a seriously public, well-lit place.  She wasn’t quite as oblivious; as quickly as it started, it was over; she was tapping my shoulder, telling me we should get back inside before someone caught us.  I looked up at her and smiled from the cold floor, tracing my fingers up her vulva as I stood.  Okay, I said, wolfishly licking my lips.  We walked back into the bar as normally as we would have had we just gone for a smoke, sat down with our friends, ordered a shot, and continued talking.  She never brought it up again – in fact, I only ever saw her once again – but it was a lovely shared moment on a winter evening long ago.            


And I leave you with that, internet friends.  I’m heading to warmer climes on Friday morning and will return in March!  Wish me luck on getting some travel booty; I haven’t had sex in SO LONG (okay, it’s only been a month, but it feels like forever).  

Stay warm, everyone!

She Comes First

 
Holy.  Shit. 

If you are a person who has engaged in or who plans to engage in cunnilingus, do yourself and your partner(s) a favor and read this book. 

I heard about it first in a Sex Nerd Sandra podcast, and have heard / seen it mentioned on other podcasts and sex websites since, so I finally decided to read it.  It’s heteronormative and written in a super cheesy self-help book style; the author makes eye roll-inducing allusions to philosophers and writers to emphasize his points, and the entire introduction is dedicated to selling you on reading the book you’ve already purchased.  However — once you get past the intro, She Comes First is pure gold. 

Why?  Not because of the routines, although the author does lay out several gloriously descript step-by-step routines.  Not because of the detailed anatomical diagrams and explanations of the various parts of the clitoral network, though those are also included and pretty bad-ass. 

It’s because the author, Ian Kerner, takes the time to drop some knowledge on us that is imperative to the enjoyment of cunnilingus.  While I was reading it, I just kept saying to myself, “Yes.  Yes.  YES!  Do people really not know this?”  And then I realized: People really don’t know this.  He talks about things that I always assumed were just common sense, but upon reading the book have realized aren’t common sense at all — otherwise, they wouldn’t be included in this book.

Things like:

  • A woman’s entire body – not just her vulva – is an erogenous zone.
  • More foreplay = more arousal.  I cannot stress how much this bears repeating.  “But, but…” some of you might be saying.  “Cunnilingus is foreplay.”  Not if you’re a queer girl!  Personally, I consider foreplay to be anything that happens before direct genital stimulation.  Things like kissing, caressing and nibbling various body parts (see the first bullet point), talking dirty, etc.  The more aroused a woman is before you go down on her, the more likely she is to climax.   
  • It’s important to pay attention to the entire vulva, not just the head of the clitoris.  The clitoral network is vast and includes all parts of the vulva, vagina, and anus.   
  • It’s REALLY important for the bottom to know that she has all the time in the world because her partner is enjoying it; if a woman feels like her partner is in a hurry, she’s much less likely to enjoy herself or be able to relax. 
  • Cunnilingus is most effectively done with the bottom laying flat on her back (not in a crazy porn position) with her legs close together, not spread really wide (of course, there are women who are an exception to this).
So there you have some highlights.  Seriously, go read this book.  Lend it out to as many people as you can.  Send it to your parents as an anniversary present.  Enjoy!

11/20/14  Update! The author of this book, Ian Kerner, was recently a guest on Sex Nerd Sandra’s podcast and he was completely delightful.  He was unassuming, soft-spoken, intelligent and warm; listen to the podcast here.